I watched Fleetwood Mac's "Everywhere" and saw that it was based on "The Highwayman'' by Alfred Noyes. The poem is so pretty and I basically wrote a Jason-Piper story that elaborated on the poem because angst lol. The story is VERY much based on "The Highwayman"–pretty much just used Jason and Piper in lieu of the original characters–and also has hints of the song in it. So the premise of this story (and some actual words that are italicized) are from Alfred Noyes and the characters here belong to Rick Riordan. Also props to Fleetwood Mac for a beautiful song and beautiful video!
Everywhere
PART ONE
Her eyes were glass orbs staring vacantly at the handheld mirror. The young woman listened idly to the ticking of the clock as it crept closer to midnight's stroke. The light from the candles illuminated her beautiful features, but it was the moon's luminosity that comforted her the most, for her lover's words whispered a promise of his return when the white gem was at its fullest. There was little activity outside the inn, with only the wind brushing the nearby oak leaves, the mild tap of the casement shutters, and her own heart fluttering like butterfly wings to fill in the silence of the room.
A sigh escaped her, full of longing. Nights like these, she reminisced over the first meeting with her beloved. When winter reared its head with harsh gusts and a biting cold that caused chills to spread over her skin, her father had warned her of staying inside the inn where it was warm and safe from falling ill. Not one to always do as she was told, she snuck out of the inn into the stables one night, as a rare visitor of the inn had also brought a horse with him during his travels. She so loved to stroke the soft mane of these creatures, and her presence was as soothing to the animals as running water in a bubbly brook.
It was that night where the rustling of footsteps alerted her senses, and she whirled around with an explanation on her tongue to placate her father. But what she found instead made her abandon all speech and thought.
Before her stood a tall, dashing man with a bicorne hat resting on his head as if it was a crown, bunched lace along his throat, a coat textured of smooth velvet wine, and boots wrapped around powerful legs. His hands held the ropes of his horse, evident that he was here to sneak in water and hay for his companion. But his blue-jeweled eyes twinkled as much as his ensemble, with many questions in his gaze wanting answers. The smirk was just as amused, and she noticed a scar on his upper lip. She blinked back to reason, and tried to flee inside.
However, he gently caught her skittish hand and eased her breathlessly with a chaste kiss on her palm; for no one was as beautiful as her nor made his heart race with complete rapture. Her hair was a cascade of delicate chocolate, plaited in ribbon. The sapphire blue dress clung to her shapely chest and waist, flowing to the ground with a feathered touch. Her eyes were brilliant with an array of swimming colors, captivating him and refusing to release her prisoner. With one look, the dark-haired daughter of the innkeeper captured the heart of the best thief in all the lands, and he knew he would do anything to have her love.
Now? Her love called out to him. Where was he? Was he safe? Was he caught? Tumultuous thoughts turned traitorous instead. Did he grow tired of their secret affair in empty fields and shadowed corners? Perhaps traded the dreary life of chasing the innkeeper's daughter to pursue a woman of more adventure? Was he warming the body of another, or did his heart still remain chained to hers as much as hers was to his?
A whistled tune drifted from the window, and her cheeks flushed in chagrin. She had been a fool to doubt him!
Eyes flickered alive like the candles on her table. She smiled her brilliant smile and dashed for the window in excitement. Below her, Jason stood with the confidence and grandeur of a highwayman who never lost what he set his sights on. He wore freedom and ruggedness like the sauvignon-tinted cloak that fitted him so well, always making her mind wander with thoughts of their tryst that she wished she could doff as easily as his coat. His hands were taming Tempest for both of them knew they could not be caught.
His devilish lips promised passion and sweetness, her grip on the windowsill demanded his touch. One more smile was awarded to him before the innocent daughter crept quietly down the stairs, making sure to avoid the attention of her father. While a good man, she doubted his kindness would stretch enough to grant the union of herself and Jason. It was understandable; she was the sought-over daughter of the town's respectable innkeeper and he was a robber whose fame in stealing riches from travelers was well feared in vast expanse.
They would not risk facing the consequences of a reveal, for separation would be the cruelest of punishments.
Skill and experience made it easy for Jason to come inside, and it was also convenient that her father put much labor into his work; he was sleeping soundly on the chair, with the flames in the fireplace reduced to embers and his dreams more pleasant than reality.
They ascended the steps with raised corners on their lips and hands in a tight squeeze. It had been too long–the longest this time–since they had seen each other, and meetings like these were always more fevered. Once through the door of Piper's room, the highwayman eagerly took her face in his hands and apologized for his absence through kisses and swallowed murmurs of her name. The reassurance of his love was as necessary as his appeasement to his beloved. Like the cold night of their first meeting, she felt the chills of his touch blanket her skin, which turned to jolts of desire as his hands ran down her arms and chest in tingling sensations, warming her whole. She clutched his hand once more, her steps leading to the bed with heated intent.
Later, Piper awoke to his muted rustling. It had been a dream to have him here, and now she had to face another nightmare of loneliness. He was preparing to leave, seeking an alluring bounty in the neighboring town. With night as his accomplice, it was advantageous to go at this hour, she knew. But her heart grew heavy with his departure that could not be avoided.
Could he hear her heart calling for him, even when he remained so closely still? Oh, how she loved him!
She wanted to be with him everywhere. Many a time she sat upon the hill overlooking the white graveled road and the purple moorland hoping to see his face alight like a beacon on the shore. How she wished she could be swept away in his embrace, ride away from it all and be with him forever. How they could ride far away, begin a life elsewhere where she would shed the title of town's fairest and instead become his loving and caring wife. How he would give her a babe and she would shower sweet tickles and kisses upon its cheek. And he would trade the life of crime to be an abled husband providing and cherishing her until death do them part.
He reached out to caress her face, his own a mirror of sorrow.
She had once begged to bring her, even vowing to become a vagrant like him, swearing unwavering love and loyalty. But he would never bring her into his world, for nothing was of more importance than keeping her out of harm's way. His path had been set, the life of a highwayman pulsed in his veins as easily as his own blood. Even with a nod in understanding and a solemn promise to stay safe following his urgency, her silent tears never failed to convey how she really felt. They always appeared with his leaving, and he was abased to be the cause.
This time, he would be closer. And he promised himself to cease her cries upon his quick return.
At the inn's stable gate, he spoke the words his heart commanded:
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
A kiss indeed she granted him, both lovers seeking the taste of each other's lips one more time. With a pull on his reins, Jason rode down the white ribboned road with the night's darkness covering his form, the reverberation of Tempest's canter slowly disappearing like a drop of paint in water. She bid him a lead farewell, glistening pools in her eyes, but her heart was less burdened with the promise of his coming hereafter. Her steps were careful to not disturb the Earth beneath her and she retreated inside the inn to await again for her soulmate.
What the two did not know was in the black dark of the stable, Dylan the ostler of the inn, overheard their fervent colloquy with clandestine ears. His face was an assortment of tinges: red with reserved rage for the highwayman, green with envy for her devotion; blue with despair as his own love and obsession for the landlord's daughter would now be unrequited. He had quietly admired her from afar, hoping to proclaim his feelings one day, yet this lawbreaker had snatched her instead to keep away like buried treasure.
The madness in his eyes sneered retribution, and he walked away with a lantern in hand.
PART TWO
Her devotion was Roman stone, but her patience was gossamer thin.
To her disappointment, as she watched the sun aflame in the sky, he did not return upon morning's light nor did he come at noon. She busied herself to keep the loneliness at bay. She read books, she brushed her tousled locks, she tended to her father's duties as mistress of the inn. She especially was keen to ignore the persistence of suitors. Was it not obvious that her heart was already taken? Still, her eyes would wander outside the window, eager to see her beloved again.
What was he doing, she wondered. At the moment, he maintained secrecy in the woodlands for there was more patrol than usual. He reviewed in his mind the earlier events, when he stared down the barrel of his pistol at his victims, making him a wealthier man as trembling hands filled his sacks with pounds upon pounds of golden coinage. They pleaded for their life, believing they were close to death's door. The highwayman remained silent, never swayed to reveal his true morals of ending a life, only seeking to become richer. And he never stole from the poor–the audacity of it all!–only from those who had more than enough to spare. Piles of treasure lined his sacks, so much that they would not even fit in the pockets of his breeches when he was through.
Instead of happiness from the riches he claimed, his mind always turned to visions of dark waves. Prismed eyes that rivaled any diamond, ruby, or emerald. Gripped sheets, caramel skin, and swollen lips in holy utterance of his name. Soon he would see her, a litany he forced himself to say every minute he was away from her. Soon he would see his beloved, and he wished the sands of time would fall faster.
Orange and rose soon swirled to purple and azul. The sun bowed to let the pearl moon shimmer and the jeweled sky blink. The rustle in the wind was inviting and comforting, and only a half hour remained until the lovers' reunion. But it was not meant to be.
Soldiers in red coats galloped with sights on the inn. A barbed notion of a fugitive's whereabouts prompted their arrival. Appearing with one purpose and egregious decorum, they drank all the inn's ale with amber liquid dripping down their tangled beards, engraved buttons, and scarlet wool. On the floor lay the innkeeper with a coward's strike to the head. The dark-haired daughter, roused from company below, soon became gagged with cloth and bound to the foot of her bedpost. A musket was positioned against her breast–in case she had any ideas they jested with mustard-teeth cruelty. Horror engulfed her as she was forced to stand up, the red soldiers kneeling at her casement, instruments of death pointing from every window, down towards the white graveled road that laid before her lover's return.
She looked through her framed hell, his arrival drawing closer as she felt it beat through their threaded love. Or was it the beating of her frantic heart, she could not distinguish. The clock rang in her ears, the minutes ticked by until the hand was inches from twelve, and her eyes grew wide in fright. The knots were well formed, she could not escape no matter how much blood and sweat she shed from her trials.
She tried to yell for her beloved, to warn him of his impending doom. The soldiers jeered at her, violating her esteem with a messy kiss. The captain barked for their attention to task. Besides–with malice in his words and evil in his eyes–she would learn her place as she would gaze upon her lover's bloody corpse.
Too busy with their violation and mockery did they not hear the familiar horsehoofs at first. Her heart rhythmed maniacally. It screamed for her lover and cried for his safety. Please do not hurt him, her heart begged to any a sympathetic ear, please do not hurt him! She could not bear to cause his injury, could not bear to live without him. She continued to twist her hands and fingers, and alas, the gods must have heard her plea!
One finger rested on the trigger and she now stood tall without fear.
Tempest's hoofs were ringing clear, and the soldiers primed their position. Piper looked out the window, and her life flashed before her eyes. Short legs running across wheat fields; adolescent eyes reading poems of romance upon the cliffs; holding her mother's hand at her bedside. Father–her kind father–she was so sorry for what she had to do. But her resolve held firm and was wholly unselfish.
At last, she pictured blue-jeweled eyes, and a smirk on scarred lips. She remembered giggling chases, sincere words slicing cunning speech, kisses-of-more, and the eve where she gave herself fully to him. He had worshipped her in turn with ardored words and gentle touches, touches she prayed she would feel some day on an ethereal plane. She imagined what could have been–a countryside life with a babe in her arms and her lover draped over her shoulders, though it was never meant to be, she accepted it now. His declaration of love resounded in her heart, so crystal and true, and she knew tonight, she would pass without regret.
She pledged her love to her highwayman with one final breath. Her body would be dust, but her love for him would never end.
A piercing gunshot tore through the night, and Jason halted his tracks. He could faintly see the light from the inn and the smoke from the chimney. His heart called out to her, but his highwayman blood betrayed him. He turned and spurred west to avoid possible capture. I am sorry my beloved, he cried to the heavens, please wait for me! A backstabber's dagger was held in his hand and he only had himself to blame for his heart's infliction.
Dawn came, and the wound in his heart only festered more. He sat in the corner of the pub nursing ale, warding off conversation with a threatening glint in his eyes, a downwards frown, and a twinkling rapier at his hip to any obstreperous patron. His imagination ran wild of her dismay, constructing a mountain of guilt within him. She must have been waiting at the window, fearing for him, wondering if she would ever see him again, as this was the first time he had not come to her. How much of a coward was he.
Jason closed his eyes. She was goddess divine; beauty defined and soul perfect. Her eyes glittered with love and want for him. Her touch was a brand, leaving him breathless and needing more. Her lips, while capable of bringing him to his knees with honeyed words, were forked with witty banter and matched humor. He was a robber–the best in the land he would boast–yet his own heart was so easily snatched and ensnared by the innocent landlord's daughter. And how he craved her so!
He wanted to be with her everywhere. Many a time he would ride away, never looking back as he was always tempted to steal her and take her to be his bride. He desperately wished to sweep her in his arms; to envelop her body with his own and smell her perfume as he rode them to nowhere and everywhere that they could be free to kiss and speak and touch without prying looks. She would be his wife and he would cherish and protect her until their final years. And he would give her a babe, he decided. He would watch her belly grow and clutch her hand with pride as she brought their child into this world. The babe would be showered with her kisses and adoration and he would have to resort to his lecherous, thieving ways in order to steal one kiss from her and he would never stop until he got what he wanted.
And what did he want now? What was he doing here?
It had been her request for so lengthy a time, and he was a fool to take her for granted.
With finality, he was going to ride back east. Enough of these games, his heart shouted. He would capture her as she had captured his heart, and take her places where they could be together without barrier.
But a moment's meeting with a brave stranger caused him to break, for the news he received left him without motion. The stranger stumbled across his words, eyeing the gun on the table and the sword sheathed at the hip, but he ventured further. He knew of their affair and their forbidden love, but respected the highwayman enough to tell him of his beloved's tragic end by the hands of the red-coated patrolmen. The news made his body grow weak and his heart shattered into a million pieces. Was it possible for one to die and still draw breath? No longer was he a proud highwayman who never failed in getting what he wanted. For the one thing he desired most in this world, he would never be able to have.
He would never feel her touch, nor be blessed with her smile and kind eyes. There would never be tearful reunions and relieved kisses spurred by his safe return. He would never hear her voice, her laughter, her whimpers that would ask him to stay for a minute more. He could never whisk her away, grow old with her, protect her and cherish her with a vow he would make under the gods. She was dead. She had died because of him. She had died in darkness but with her heart set ablazed, open and hoping to save his life.
His anguished scream cut across chatter, and the pub fell silent in fear. He threw his ale at the wall. He smashed glasses and toppled tables. He scattered his riches, for they were useless now. His eyes were frenzied. He was no longer a man. Just a shell of one, consumed with hate and sorrow, suffering from the cruelest of punishments known to mankind. He snatched the gun from the table, and rode east down the white graveled road.
Jason charged madly with recklessness and no care. His heart was discolate, his soul empty, and his body meaningless. There were no jewels or gold that would ever tempt him again. He would die tonight, and the feeling made him soar. He could not be tethered to a world where his beloved did not grace. He would see her soon. He promised her that he would see her, and he would not fail her again.
He had one more mission to accomplish; one more futile act to dull his shame. In the distance, he saw the soldiers behind trees, waiting for him with grave intent and hoped-for glory. Tempest thundered faster, his owner's pistol drawn and posed to kill, morals be damned. When opportunity rose, he shot. Took one soldier down, and then another. His faithful stallion was hit, and Tempest reared in pain. Yet they both continued forward, his sword now brandished high. He strode steadfastly, pledging his undying love to his dark-haired lover one final time. They would be together once more.
The morning fog was dense, but the soldiers had to check. They crept closer, muskets still drawn, in case the highwayman stirred with life. They stood around his body, it was cold and gray. His horse lay beside him, also dead. His rapier was held in his hand, the gun still smoking. They kicked his body for good measure, eyed his sauvignon coat as a prize.
But even with victory on their side and the blood trickling from his broken corpse, they could not understand why the highwayman died with such a look of peace on his face.
EPILOGUE
"Turn right, Frank!"
"Sorry honey," the husband said as he veered right, almost missing the turn. It was the first of winter, and the newly-wed couple were driving to a bed and breakfast hours away. But Frank had gotten off work late and they had to drive in the night.
The stars blinked like diamonds in the sky and the moon was full, peeking behind passing clouds. The weather was nice and the cobble-stoned street was picturesque. There were barely any cars or people out due to the lateness of the hour, but the drive was pleasant and so was each other's company.
As they were cruising along, on the corner of the street, was the town's old inn that was well over two hundred years old. It was sadly abandoned, but historically preserved. The inn was quaint and the beauty around it was always a sight to sight to see. The oak trees swayed candidly in the breeze and the leaves whirled around in delicacy.
Hazel sighed whimsically. She wished the inn had been restored, and she could imagine how romantic the rooms would be. For an inn so old, it still stood strong.
"That inn is kind of creepy," Frank laughed, making ghoulish noises.
"Oh stop!" His wife laughed back with a teasing cuff to his shoulder. "The place is so beautiful. And have you heard the tale of the highwayman and the innkeeper's daughter?"
"Mm-mm. What's it about?"
"There were two people, so in love with each other, but they couldn't be together because the man was a robber. He left to steal something but he told her he'd come back to the inn at midnight. He was almost caught by soldiers, but she sacrificed herself to warn him. He found out about her death, took revenge on the soldiers, knowing he would die anyway." Hazel mulled over the story's romance with a dreamy disposition, but it was still sad to know that they died so tragically. She wished they had a happy ending.
"You think that's real?" Frank asked, tapping the steering wheel in thought.
The headlights briefly flashed along the walls of the inn, and… she could have sworn she saw two shadows.
One of a young woman with long flowing hair and another of a man with a bicorne hat. The woman jumped in the arms of the man, embracing one another, never to be separated again. Hazel smiled, the apparitions vanishing as they galloped away.
Maybe they did have their happy ending after all.
And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding—
Riding—riding—
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.